


Leverage

by ballvvasher



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Bodily Fluids, Bottom Armitage Hux, Crack, Dirty Talk, Dominant Kylo Ren, Erotic Massage, First Kiss, First Time, Hair-pulling, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Massage, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Rimming, Top Kylo Ren, Tumblr: kyluxhardkinks, being filmed without consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballvvasher/pseuds/ballvvasher
Summary: Written for Kylux Hard Kinks prompt: "Hux, tense one evening, coms for a massage droid but accidentally sends it to Kylo instead."





	Leverage

**Author's Note:**

> My first prompt fill! I hope you all enjoy. The prompter probably intended for this to have less drama but I couldn't help myself. Please be warned for pushy asshole Kylo and inexperienced prideful Hux, and while the sex is entirely consensual, Hux is filmed in a compromising position without his consent.

 

 

From behind his mask, Kylo Ren grunts at the vibrating notification of his comm unit. It’s another unwanted message from that dreaded General Hux. Tonight he was given permission to turn in early after nearly ten days of nonstop fieldwork and that damned Hux has the gall to message him, not once, but four times since he took his leave, and all messages consisted of requests he deems irrelevant to his role on the Finalizer. Hux has been nothing but a pest all day.

Ren almost doesn't read this one. He nearly turns his comm off so Hux will have to resume bossing him around while he's back on the clock the next morning.

But when he reads it, he's so, so glad he has.

_“Request: Pleasure Droid. Routine: full body massage. 2100 hours. Forty-five minute session.”_

Ren rereads the message once, then twice, then another time to dissect the authenticity of its origins. There's no indication of deception. All he can surmise is that General Hux had apparently sent his co-commander a request for a _pleasure droid_ by mistake. His window of opportunity to humiliate Hux into accepting his place below him has finally arrived.

He has only two hours to gather what he needs for his blackmailing. It's more than enough time to procure a pleasure droid and synchronize it to a control terminal—a glorified drone operator. They aren't hard to find. Transporting the droid unseen would be an issue if he were any one of his lowly subordinates. Thankfully everyone else on this ship is far too beneath him to do anything about it.

Except for Hux, but that won't be for very long.

 

\--

 

Rolling his cramped shoulders, Hux downs another helping of wine and refills his cup for his bedside. It's almost time for his appointment. He hasn't ordered a pleasure droid in ages, not since he gained full control of the Finalizer. Unfortunately it's not his full control, due to a certain headache that looms his halls. Ren only spares him the privilege of his cooperation when the results will tip in his favor. Otherwise, their disagreements always end with Ren stomping off and doing what he wants anyway.

Like this evening, how he continued to ignore his comms. What that man needs is discipline and respect for authority by people who have actually earned their stripes, not born into it.

His door hums with an expecting visitor. Hux welcomes the droid in and seals the door behind him, but not before checking the hall for any unwanted spectators. The coast is clear.

Around the corner and out of sight, Ren hunches over his control terminal, smirking deviously at the clear picture of Hux instructing the droid down a short hall and seemingly explaining as to what he'd prefer in droid-human etiquette. Ren snorts. Hux is ridiculous.

When the droid inches closer, Ren types in a command for Hux to disrobe. Without question, Hux complies. Ren frowns. Hux is stripping while being filmed without his knowledge. In Ren’s planning, he somehow hadn’t figured the extent of the lines he’d be crossing. Good thing he never truly gave a shit about personal agency.

By the time the tiny Hux on the screen is down to his underwear—standard issue black, though much smaller and tighter than Ren’s own pairs that he rarely uses—he turns his back to the droid to mount his bed on all fours, arching his back in some kind of indulgent stretch. Hux settles on his stomach. Waiting.

Hux is—small. Not small for a man, but smaller than him. There’s no indication of any sort of definition or physical aptitude. He could pass for a commoner, a homemaker, or someone with the luxury and means to never work a day in his life. Ren cannot get over how much Hux’s suits alter his natural figure. From this soft, pale, and almost feminine figure, to a harsher and angular one, disguising like a bayonet attachment does to a blaster rifle. Ren smirks. He’s not the only one who conceals themselves with a mask.

If Ren hadn't prepared for the droid to administer a massage without any further prompt from his end of the controls, his plan would certainly fail as Hux would send for another droid, one that doesn't hesitate when he stretches like a cat in heat. When the droid inches closer, it raises its little limbs and gets to work. Ren fumbles with the camera's control as he rapidly loses picture of anything incriminating. All he has now is a soundless image of Hux’s bed frame and maybe a swatch of skin.

Ren reviews the recording. It will be enough to make Hux’s skin crawl, knowing Ren has seen him unclothed, with his guard down, bending and stretching seemingly for show. Ren’s already committed to memory just how slight the general is under his uniform. Certainly passing on insult will get him to yield.

Surely he has what he needs. And yet—he can't help but wonder what Hux looks like as he's getting rubbed down, if he makes any embarrassing noises or facial expressions. The only camera Ren has is he one pinned to the droid, but Ren can't help but muse that running to get another camera would risk missing out on the rest of the session.

Ren’s throat bobs. He makes a decision. He'll break in and spy with just his eyes, committing the weapon to memory. Surely there's something that he can acquire, just for personal use— _gain_. For personal gain.

It's absurd, Ren sneaking into Hux’s private rooms using his powers to bend Hux’s ability to hear. He manufactures a shrill ringing of feedback to elude Hux's ears, just long enough to slip through his main door.

The inside of Hux’s rooms is drab, untouched, catering to only the most basic of needs. Carefully, Ren toes inside past the modestly sized living area. His heart thrums in anticipation for the leverage, that he's about to have against his co-commander. Something akin to panic stiffens a chill up his spine when he hears a soft, faint groan from the other side of the wall. All he has to do is peek.

Atop his bed, Hux waggles a fingertip in his ear canal to alleviate the pressure. The ringing dissipates, and he can get back to relaxing. As the droid rolls its oiled massagers along the knots in his lower back, Hux hums in satisfaction. He extends a hand for his glass of wine, swallowing half the contents.

“Oh, right there,” he groans, forehead puckering in bliss. It aches but it's just what he needs. The droid persists and he sets the glass down to concentrate on the pleasurable pull and twist.

Behind the barrier, Ren stifles his rapidly increasing breaths to not give away the hum of his vocoder. He wants a better view. He needs to commit to memory as much as he can. For leverage.

Shuffling to the farthest end if the room he can get, Ren unfastens his helmet. It's getting too hot underneath. He can hardly think. In the distance, Hux moans indulgent and free. Ren hastens his pace back to his vantage point because it sounds like he's missing a lot.

Hux is doing another one of his stretches. Parting his legs invitingly, raking his fingers in his bed sheet—looking absolutely nothing like the sniveling little rat Ren’s spent entirely too much time with these past long years. Shame floods his cheeks when his arousal—there's no denying it now—solidifies in the form of a dreaded erection.

But Ren can't look away, even as Hux reaches for another sip of wine. He could just cock his head upwards and see Ren standing there with a hard-on. That's a kind of leverage that can't be competed with.

Hux finishes his cup of wine, blurring a bit from the buzz. He hasn't done anything like this in so long, he forgot how amazing it felt to forget all problems, both personal and professional. It's so out of character, it strikes him. His comm is within arm’s reach. He supposes he could get a bit of work done. Perhaps relay a final message to a particular nuisance who has been ignoring him all evening.

When the comm in Ren’s breast pocket vibrates against the dividing wall he's been sweating against. Creating the loudest, most boisterous buzz. All his training has yet to prepare him for this moment, where he's quite literally caught with his pants down.

Hux shoots up, startled. There was no mistaking that noise. It's from a person, probably a comm. “Show yourself!” Hux snaps, tempering the unease from his voice.

A frenzied rustling only spikes his fury. “Lockdown my quarters!” Hux barks to the room’s habitat. Once the door is sealed, Hux stands to attention, fist around his blaster. Whoever is on the other side of the divider curses and scuffs their boot on the door that is now unable to be activated without Hux’s intervention. Sneaking into his private quarters. Treason would be a befitting punishment.

Blaster poised, Hux breaches the dividing threshold, underwear and all. “Unbelievable,” Hux growls once he's eye to eye with his menace. Now that he knows the intruder was Ren, he wishes he brought at least a bed sheet. Better yet, let Ren gawk. He'll give the man no such pleasure to know that he finds nudity utterly humiliating. Hux tries not to think about Ren’s powers, how he can so often read him like a book.

“Open the door,” Ren orders, not meeting his eye. This was such a stupid idea from the beginning.

Hux ignores the preposterous request. “What are you doing? Spying on me? I would be surprised if you weren't already so utterly pathetic.” There were times when Hux tolerated the man, even accepted his leadership and his skills as an asset to the First Order. But now, all Hux wants is for him to be sent to the nearest airlock.

“I wasn't spying. You messaged me,” Ren defends. As if he could talk his way out of this one.

“Right you are. I had messaged you. If I remember correctly, you received the message while you were _already in my room._ Spare me, Ren.”

Maybe there is a way out of this. “Not that message. The other one.”

“What?”

Ren meets his eye, paying no attention to his blaster. “You requested I give you a massage. I...came here to tell you that it wouldn't be professional.” How, _how_ had that sounded any less stupid in his head?

Hux blinks, and primes his blaster with a practiced thumb. “You're lying.”

Why can't he just admit the truth? Is it because he's embarrassed that he'd come up with something so juvenile? Or is it because seeing Hux wanton and unhinged, moaning and humming in pleasure, had awakened an irrefutable want?

“You're right. That's not why I came in here,” Ren frowns, leveling his chin.

The blaster doesn't waver. “Snuck. You snuck in here.”

“I came here to watch—”

“To _watch?”_

“—To watch and make sure you had been taken care of properly. I know—” Gods, he wants to vomit, “that I haven't exactly made things easy on you. Over the years. I wanted to see if I could help in any way that I could.”

Hux’s fine, even features crumple into a grimace. This is a new level of depravity for Ren. And the strangeness of it all is that it's possible he could mean it. He lowers his blaster but doesn't set it down. “Help?”

Ren’s glad his cowl conceals the movement of his nervous throat. He isn't quite sure what or why he's even offering this. “I'm good with my hands,” Ren says, not as confident as he'd wish to sound.

A flash of shock widens Hux’s eyes, and they darken as if he just might be interested in this proposal. But it's gone as quick as it came. Hux tosses his blaster on a table. He shakes his head. Ren might detect hurt in his features. “Reverse lockdown,” Hux barks to the walls. The habitat complies. “Get out.”

Ren plays himself cool and imposing. Like this is a game. He supposes it is. “You don't think I could?”

“I don't think you care at all about the way I feel. Leave. Now.”

“I'm quite capable. Unless you doubt you'll ever be able to enjoy a droids pleasure since getting a taste of mine.”

Hux laughs, a sickly noise. He side-eyes Ren. “You're like a child.” But it isn't a ‘no.’

“Lie down. I'll prove it.”

Hux is certain Ren is just trying to work him over. Another power play, one where he'll try and end up on top by proving that he can make Hux relax better than a programmed droid can. Ren, help him _relax_. It's as impossible as it is absurd. Hux is looking forward to laughing in his face when yet another one of his plights fails.

Wordless, he pads over to his bed and gets back into position. He folds his arms under his chin and gives a vocal command to the droid to park in the corner and power down. The room is still, save for Ren’s nasally breaths. “Go on. I have work to do,” Hux asserts as if Ren was little more than preprogrammed mechanical joints and parts.

Ren gapes to Hux’s nonchalant form, the ease and detachment in which he sprawls like this is just another routine. Perhaps to Hux it is, and this is just another troublesome encounter with his co-commander.

With his teeth, Ren peels off his gloves and sets them on the floor. He unwraps his scarf and outer cassock until he's just in his pants, suspenders, and undershirt. Hux still hasn't looked up. He's a coiled, slip of a mass on his bed waiting just for him.

Ren withdraws some oil from the droid and warms it in his palms. At the noise, Hux’s head shifts, presumably in anticipation.

When Ren’s wet hands brush his right foot, Hux reflexively snatches it away. But Ren is quicker. He grips his ankle, determined to administer a soothing initiation. Hux’s toes curl as Ren's ministrations border on tickling. But Ren persists and the movements grow bold as he tugs from heel to arch to toe.

Hux frowns as Ren’s hands lather over his foot. He chokes around the noise of approval. He'll give Ren no such satisfaction. Because really, it's just his foot. Ren moves to the other, repeating the buildup. His hands push on to either calve. They swim above his skin, mellowing the overworked muscle. Hux pants like he's done one too many pull-ups, which does not go unnoticed by Ren.

Ren doesn't remember the last time he's been this turned on, and all he's touched are Hux’s feet. Comparatively, Hux has much slimmer muscles lining his bones, and his legs are no exception. The fine gold hairs on the backs of his thighs tug with every movement, and his knees draw in together the higher Ren’s hands knead.

“How's this?” Ren asks, shattering the glass-thin silence. He'd never imagined the general to be this soft and pliable. All that’s missing is his little noises of pleasure and Ren would be able to set off in his pants.

Hux hides his face, the one Ren longs to see. Hidden under his arm, Hux pouts and chews at his lip, confused by the sweetness and sincerity of Ren’s palms. He's never been touched so thoroughly, so gently. He should tell Ren to leave but they've already begun. What began was a game, and now it’s escalated. Hux is a coward for not admitting to himself that his repressed his desire for Ren’s approval, Ren’s respect and veneration, had been the reason he agreed to this massage in the first place. Unfortunately, it isn’t until now that he realizes he also craves Ren’s thorough touch.

“How is this?” Ren repeats, marveling at the tenseness binding Hux’s shoulders.

“Better than I expected. Which wasn't much,” he hums, just barely able to disguise a moan. He pulls his knees together because he swears Ren might be trying to pry them apart.

Cracking a smirk, Ren grows even bolder to malleate the skin of Hux’s sides. He nearly pulls his hips off the bed with his vehemence. Wolfishly, Ren perks up at Hux’s startled squeak. Hux glares into space as if deeply troubled he admitted such an intimate reaction.

Hux grimaces as Ren elicits strange, sharp pangs of need with every push and pull. His throat strangles around a noise of protest, because Ren’s hands are broad enough to scoop at the front of him, his ribcage and chest. Ren is closer now so he can make out his labored, heated breaths.

When cocksure fingertips prod at his nipples, Hux whimpers, tucking his face away. His arousal is undeniable at this point. He prays Ren can't tell. He doesn't want Ren to stop touching him but he doesn’t want Ren to have this over him. He imagines Ren’s oblong face splitting into a cackle when he finds Hux’s hidden arousal, the mockery and disgust he’ll torment him with until one or both of them dies.

Ren bites his lip, repeating his underside ministrations. He marvels at Hux’s whimpers, the muscles twitching in his hips and thighs.

“That's enough,” Hux gasps, flattening his hips so Ren won't see the shame hiding there in full, appalling hardness.

Because Ren is insufferable, he withdraws his hands and seats himself on the bed beside him. Ren studies the tangle of red so normally combed and gelled, the baby hairs of his hairline a twisted halo connecting flushed, sweat-slick skin to scalp. Hux still hasn't told him to leave.

A brazen finger scrapes along the divot of his spine. Hux gapes in shock. This touch is nothing like the rest.

Ren experiments with his new, tentative touches. He ogles the stripe of disrupted, displaced oils from the scrape of his fingernail, like a pallet knife cutting through globs of pigment. More fingers join the one, grazing the skin of his lower back. Hux says nothing, just burrows further into his arm.

 _You're still so tense,_ Ren has the urge to jeer. Instead, he trails his fingertips upwards to his side, to the softness of his shoulders. Hux is so much smaller than he ever could have imagined. It explains quite a lot about the way he carries himself, how vehement he is to bend to anyone’s will but his own.

Ren paws the juncture of where shoulder meets neck. His fingers skid over his pulse point. Hux still hasn't told him to stop. With all of his restraint, Ren slides his hand around the prod of his throat bulge. The urge to snap his neck doesn't arise, only the thrill that Hux is allowing him close enough to make it a possibility.

In another heartbeat, Ren slips his hand to the back of Hux’s neck, to the ends of his fiery hair. Gently, his hand nips at the scalp between the strands, massaging the untouched skin hidden beneath. Ren commits to memory Hux’s restrained, perfect whines at the teasing sensation, the blood rouging the tips of his ears. Boldly, Ren flattens his palm in his hair to draw a fist, summoning a gasp from his co-commander as he gives into the urge to tug.

Ren revels in getting a peek at Hux’s expression—slack-jawed, confused, forehead puckered in vulnerable want. His eyes are closed, like he can't face Ren this closely. Wetting his lips, Ren bends low to investigate him further. Hux can sense this, so he squeezes his eyes shut. But he hasn't told him to leave.

Ren’s breath on his neck snaps Hux back to reality. “What are you doing?”

Ren says nothing. He answers with an unmoving, open-mouthed kiss to the back of his neck. He's pinning Hux down only hard enough to make it clear that he can shove him away if he wanted to.

“Ren,” Hux groans. It's beyond him how he ended up with Ren’s mouth suctioning his skin like a mynock. Shock paralyzes him and he whimpers, because it feels unlike anything the universe ever had to offer his sensitive, sun-starved skin. When Ren extends his tongue, he groans and he _melts_.

Lost in the taste, Ren laps at the skin just under his hairline. He salivates a path to Hux's blushing ear through salt and shampoo, memorizing the quiver and clench tugging the skin of his jaw. He's running out of oxygen in the cramped, hidden space, But Hux still hasn't said ‘no.’

“You're trembling,” Ren murmurs, needing a reaction.

The haughty claim sets something off in Hux. “What are you getting out of this? Have you had your fill?” he snaps. Convinced Ren’s using him. It's a befitting punishment for letting his guard down, indulging in something so profane. He keeps his eyes in front of him for he fears Ren will catch something behind them he can weaponize.

“I really haven't,” Ren admits, and without an ounce of shame, he tongues Hux’s waiting earlobe. With his anchored hand in Hux’s hair, he wrenches his head to the side for better access. To marvel at his unhinged groan in pleasurable shock.

Hux never thought Ren pulling his hair, slobbering all over his ear would cause him to writhe with want, and even if he had, he would have expected more of a fight on his part.

“Tell me to stop,” Ren groans, but Hux can't. He doesn't want to. As if the mere swipe of Ren’s tongue has peeled back his outer shell and exposed his insides, playing in the softness with abandon.

Ren moves from his overstimulated ear and jaw to the oiled skin of his spine, lapping eager, bitter kisses along the segments. He gropes at his clothed ass, teasing the cheeks and his waistband. An unspoken question.

The fear from his counterpart is a striking stain in the room. Ren ensures his touch is gentle, yielding as Hux cranes his neck behind him to investigate. Under normal circumstances, if he hadn't just littered his neck with soulful, sensual kisses, Hux’s fear would have been a satisfying development. But in this case, Hux’s fear would undo him.

It's clear Hux has never done this.

It's equally as clear that he wants to.

Ren’s thumbs skate along his waistband, patient for his approval. Shyly, Hux faces forward and angles his hips. He wants Ren to peel them off. It's the warmest flooding of relief when Ren is met without fear, but with coy anticipation.

Hux whips his head back around as Ren, without warning, _tears through_ the cloth of his underwear with an unrelenting grip, creating a gaping hole where seamless fabric used to be. Hux would be crazy not to say something, to pass this off as normal behavior. “Was that necessary?” he pants, mind racing at what else Ren plans on ripping into.

“I've always wanted to do that,” Ren smirks. He enjoys being eye to eye, especially during this genre of sensual human interactions. Not that he's prone to spontaneously bedding First Order officers, let alone ones he's mused throwing across a room once or twice before.

Ren steps to the side, leaving Hux to guess and wait for his return. He indulges in a collective gander at Hux’s form, taking in his disheveled hair, his tense, slight shoulders, the rise and fall of his soft, formless abdomen, the wrecked state of his shorn underwear haloing his two diminutive, perfectly round buttocks. He never considered himself to be a particularly lucky person. Until now.

Hux’s eyes round at the sound of Ren hastily disrobing. They're really doing this. He's really gonna let Ren play with his insides like he's lost all self-preservation.

Ren chucks his clothes in a sleazy pile against the wall. The bed gives to his weight, and Ren cannot hold it in any longer now that he is completely naked, his cock every bit as proud and assuming as his attitude. “Relax,” he instructs when he blankets himself over Hux’s oiled back.

Hux doesn't comply. He wouldn't even if he had the choice. Everything has escalated out from his control. He lost it the second he let Ren touch him. Now Ren’s rubbing himself over his backside like a dog, nuzzling his slick neck without shame. And _gods_ , that's his cock rubbing up against him like it's looking for a new home.

“You fit so well underneath me,” Ren pants, humping his oil silken leg. He teethes along Hux’s neck to blotch his immaculate skin.

“You— _oh—_ don't you think for a second that this could ever give you power over me,” Hux moans, pushing backwards into Ren’s solid weight.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he smirks, not being truthful at all.

“I mean it, Ren. Just because—” Whatever reprimand is stifled by Ren’s fist in his hair and his spear-like tongue in his mouth. This is a new development. Had he known all it took was a clever kiss to shut Hux up, they’d have saved a lot of wasted breath.

Ren groans and pillages his humming mouth like he could suck the silver out of his tongue. A new kind of warmth tugs on his heartstrings as Hux shudders under his pressure. “Stop talking,” Ren smirks, bumping their noses together.

Hux gasps, having never in his life been kissed, and certainly not like Ren just had, full of meaning and purpose. As if Ren cares.

“Have you ever been fucked?” Ren asks. He's dying to know.

“Have you?” Hux counters, flushed down to his bones.

“I'll take that as a no,” he says instead of answering. He’s had sex, but never on the receiving end. He knows the mechanics, enough to make it feel good for Hux.

“Enough questions. Just—get on with it,” Hux groans, rolling his ass backwards. He warms in satisfaction when Ren gasps in response. He’s finally able to reciprocate.

Ren slides low, nipping and sucking down his back to the cleft of his ass. He spares little more than a breath before bruising Hux’s hips with his grip, thumbing the cheeks open. He gets off on watching Hux unwind. He's never seen or heard him as flustered before, particularly when he swipes his tongue over his hole without warning or permission.

“Ah!” Hux chokes. Should he have expected anything less? Flushing in shame, he shoves his hips back into Ren’s wet tongue. “Fuck, that's disgusting,” he whimpers, reveling in every putrid, filthy, teasing, mind-numbing lap and lick.

Apparently, he gets off on Hux’s moans of repulsion. He pries his cheeks as far as Hux’s slightness will allow, delving deep and permanent. He can tell Hux is very much enjoying this and he dares a pet at his own cock to satiate his building hunger.

Ren keeps up the tonguing until his jaw aches, then tears the shorn fabric lower for access to Hux’s lightly haired sac. Ren’s always suspected he was a natural redhead.

Hux has never felt so sick and exposed before, with Ren making a bruised, slobbering mess of his behind. “Ren, please,” he begs, for something only Ren can give him.

With a slick squelch, Ren pops off the kiss-bitten flesh. It's a good thing Hux is eager, because he's about ready to set off. Ren nips a parting bruise with Hux's ass. “Hold still,” he orders, husky. Hux complies, squeezing his eyes shut when Ren slides off the bed.

Ren fumbles with a glob of oil from the droid’s appendage, hoping Hux doesn't take a peek of him ridiculously cupping the pool of oil with both hands like a scoop of sand. He drizzles the oil down Hux’s lower back, to the teased flesh between his buttocks, ensuring both hands are drenched for what he has planned.

“Spread your legs apart,” Ren tells him, throat working around his nerves. Hux hesitates only a moment, and when he complies, Ren tears down the line if his destroyed underwear to rub at the base of his red-haired cock, while the other extends a finger to the hole that's never been fucked like it deserves. Startled, Hux moans, and welcomes both of his strange, harmonized touches.

Until Ren withdraws from his cock before he truly began to tease it, opting to massage Hux’s arched back. “That's it,” Ren encourages. “Just let it in. Let me in.”

Hux gapes around the intrusion. It's bizarre. He can't match the feeling to anything known. Ren’s fingers double, and he whimpers in confused irritation. It hurts. But Ren pushes in another of his gigantic fingers and it takes his soothing backrub to ease his tension. He refuses to shrink away from Ren and all that he’s pushing into him.

Ren studies how amazingly Hux is yielding to his touch. Already he's responding to him making room for him to nest. This is Hux’s first time. And Ren will be the one to change him from the inside out. When they move on to other assignments, when he completes his training, when Hux begins wasting his time with another Starkiller—it'll always be a fact that he was the first to have him. Ren feels around his insides some more, memorizing his tightness. He angles his fingertips upwards to the nerves that make men tremble with raw, confused want.

“Oh,” Hux keens, rubbing himself into his own mattress. The fingers work and wane, the burn summoning hot tears behind his eyes. Ren expels his fingers, ogling the twitch of the clamping muscle and change in color he produced through stretching Hux out.

Ren positions himself on his hand and knees, one hand slathering his aimed cock. He anchors himself into Hux’s waiting body.

“Fuck,” Hux hisses through gnashing teeth. It fucking _hurts_ but it also feels so, so good despite it and because of it.

“I haven’t even shown you what I can do with it yet,” murmurs Ren, teething his filthy mouth to Hux’s ear. Hux cowers away. It’s possible Ren forgot where his mouth has been. But it’s far more likely he hasn’t. Ren shoves each knee into the bendable positions of his slackened legs to raise his hips—to give him more room to move him around and rearrange him from the inside out. He punctuates the new placement with a slow, sultry pump of his hips.

Carefully, thoroughly, Hux rolls the idea around in his mind, the fact, his present reality, that he’s getting fucked. Filled and fulfilled at the will of another. His body is yielding to Ren’s enormity like this is its primary function, poised flat on his chest, leg’s spread and back arched to Ren’s liking, penetrated repeatedly without reprieve. He moans as Ren sits up for a more efficient position to piston, quivering under every movement. He’s on the cusp of tearing in half.  
  
“I’m the first. I’m your first,” Ren babbles, as if hearing his own voice gets him even harder. It probably does. “Have you thought about this? You and me?”

There is no he and Ren. He’ll stand by that fact even as they are joined, coupled, linked by the mind and flesh. Hux’s sweatslick forehead kisses his pillow and he pushes backward to meet Ren’s fervent thrusts. The buildup is mesmerizingly agonizing. He’s close, so close, and he hasn’t even properly touched his own cock. It hangs useless. He might as well be a eunuch.

“I hadn’t,” Ren pants when Hux ignores him, choking around a groan as he chases his high. “I hadn’t thought about this before. But now, I won’t be able to think about anything else. I won’t be able to get a thing done without— _ah_ —thinking of this. Of how beautifully you take me.”

Hells, Ren can rant. It shouldn’t be turning him on this much, because, _fuck_ , Ren is so fucking irritating— “More,” he demands, and Ren is happy to oblige with his rhythmic, relentless hammering.

Ren yanks Hux further backwards so that he’s fully on all fours. It’s the only way Hux can feel every inch of him. Their coupling reaches its full potential when Hux starts mewling uncontrollably with every snap. He’s unrecognizable. Ren can’t control himself when he bends down to get a fistful of hair, hissing all kinds of filth. _“Look at you,”_ Ren growls, “drunk from this. Drunk on my cock. Nothing’s suited you more.”

If Hux could, if he wanted to, he’d elbow Ren in the sternum for this verbal smearing. Instead, Hux keens, leaning into the rough, unmoving fist. “ _Yes_. Yes. I am,” he grates the basic affirmation, thickening tongue unable to form much else.

Ren can’t take the wait any longer—he physically cannot, as he’s on the verge of painting Hux’s insides whether he wants to stave it off or not. Without warning, Ren reaches between his trembling thighs with a greased palm. He needs to feel Hux come around him, to witness him quiver like a nerve. He fondles him roughly near to the point of almost ruining his orgasm with his haste.

When Hux comes, he does so without any finesse, buckling in a clumsy stretch of knees and elbows, throat choking down an exhausted lament. He’s utterly, thoroughly used. His small, crumpled quaking is too private even for Ren’s eyes, and the fact Ren not only gets to witness something so underdeveloped and intimate, but he’s the one who caused every bit of it, sets him off inside Hux prematurely. Ren grunts, coming shallowly in Hux’s hole. On instinct, he pulls out to stripe the glimmering skin of his back, ropes of come connecting from the mess of his leaking behind to the pool of oil in the groove of his spine.

Hux comes back to life, no longer shielded by intimacy. He feels the tackiness of his release on his ruined sheet, but it’s nothing compared to the unwelcome gift Ren just anointed him with. “Ren...did you just—”

“Ran out of oil,” Ren smiles deviously, painting a disgusting picture with the broad strokes of his hands down Hux’s leaking backside and to the splatters of come salting his skin. Hux sinks into the bed, all the fight drained out of him. His hole is a throbbing, stretched-out, burning pinpoint surrounded by soothed, relaxed muscles. He's never known a sensation like it, and would never have been able to experience it if not for Ren.

Hux wants to _vomit._ He's never felt so filthy, slicked and undone and coated in his and Ren’s body fluids. Yet it infatuates him like nothing else, the dishevelment encasing him like a second skin.

“How big is your shower?” Ren asks. He begins to manhandle Hux into sitting up.

Instinctively, Hux shoves him away. “Big enough for me.”

Because things manage to always tip in Ren’s favor, Hux ends up with his back to the wall of his shower with Ren obstructing the spray. This all appears to be a game to him, by the twist of his grin and the boldness in which he strips off Hux’s shredded underwear and washes Hux’s body down like he already owns it, like it’s a prized, antiquated blaster that needs polishing.

Hux uses this time to appreciate his co-commander’s brawny athleticism, how the rest of his fit, proud body easily distracts from the strangeness of his face. His enormous, flaccid cock is an addition to the package, as well as the massage oil highlighting every bulge of muscle and curve.

Ushering Ren to the side, Hux gets some shampoo from his standard issue dispenser. “Don't get it in your head that this changes anything,” he grumbles, irritation flaring at Ren’s undisguised amusement.

“Oh?”

“I've more than earned respect among—our rank,” he admits, never failing to lament for his career since he's been on the same tier as Ren.

“Are you asking if I'll still respect you in the morning?” Ren jeers after he spits out a mouthful of steaming water. “Because the thing is, I never respected you in the first place.” It's a joke, only spoken to ogle the flare under Hux’s skin.

Hux glares, unconvinced of Ren’s teasing. He forces himself to ignore Ren—nearly impossible as they are two grown men cramped in a shower for one and Ren takes up more of his fair share.

Not much later that night, Hux welcomes Ren to sleep over, muttering something about, ‘you can't be seen leaving here this late during night cycle,’ and ‘only if you can manage to shut your face long enough for me to fall asleep.’ Satisfaction coils an appreciative weight in Ren as the bed gives to their weights, Hux curled on his side as close to the edge as he can get without falling off, and Ren flat on his back like he’s testing out a comfy new mattress.

It's all quiet in the general’s quarters. It’s a moment of peace, before Ren’s eyes snap open in realization. Ren leers to the parked pleasure droid, the one fitted with a concealed camera. One that is aimed for the bed, and never stopped recording.

Of course he'll tell Hux about it, after he's already made a copy of the recording for safekeeping when Hux comes for his head. He rolls on his side to scoop Hux’s miniscule waist under his arm, earning him a small noise of reluctant acknowledgement. It’s not a ‘no.’ Ren shuts his eyes, breathing through Hux’s damp hair.


End file.
